Fly southward, back we turn the clocks
by x3eireclare93
Summary: Sam and Dean take a trip to South Boston without the guidance of John to deal with some nasty Irish legends. Meanwhile, Sam befriends a boy dealing with his own supernatural issues. Sam is contemplating college while Dean is good old Dean. Teen!chester
1. In which the Impala is met with glares

I do not nor shall I ever own Supernatural. All of that belongs to Kripke, etc. However, when I give the word, we _will_ kidnap Jensen and Jared, powerless against this massive fandom. Totally kidding. I'm not super into felonies.

The seventeen-year-old looked morosely out the window of the ebony hunk of metal, object of his brother's adulation: the '67 Chevy Impala. What a beauty. Even Sam coveted it a little bit. Mainly because it was a declaration of independence, something he didn't have yet. Something he would never have if he continued in the family business. He wanted to snort at the use of that word in conjunction with his family; business seemed so civilized. So ordinary. So...far away, Sam sighed. They were so far away from their last motel, Dad's last job, and Sam's last school. It was June, the beginning of summer, but all seasons were the same to hunters. They just varied in difficulty. At least Dad had let him finish out the year, he considered. It would have been tough to make up the most important year of his high school career at a new school. Then it would have been bye-bye normalcy forever. College: Sam defined normalcy and escape as one. He was thinking of taking advantage of a Dean bar-run to write out some applications, although he had no idea who would accept him and his sketchy transcripts. The grades were all there, but the names weren't. And questions would be asked, as they always were by outsiders. People who didn't understand and couldn't be told. They always thought the worst. College. Dad was gonna flip.

"Hey, kiddo, we're almost there, so don't fall asleep on me, bro. I couldn't carry your Sasquatch ass if I tried," Dean grinned at Sam through the mirror, and Sam rolled his eyes, complying with the expected reaction to one of his brother's jibes. But, he thought in relief, Dad wasn't here. Just Sam and Dean. John Winchester took off to Seattle after their stint in Florida to handle a nasty coven of vampires with the Winchesters' friend and surrogate uncle, the one and only, Bobby Singer. Dean and Sam were on their second solo hunt, and they were across the country from their only lifelines, so there were no mistakes to be made. It was strange to be in the city after so many years spent in backlot motels in haunted, legend-ridden one horse towns. Spirits didn't take well to cities. Not enough room and too much chaos. But South Boston? They hadn't known a thing about the place until Caleb called, rife with news that the Irish legends they used used to cast off as bullshit were real and dangerous. Not leprechauns. That actually was bullshit. But Dean and Sam would be dealing with, according to their father, the Far Dorocha, or the Dark Man. The strong Irish heritage in this part of Boston probably attracted the spirits to it, although Sam wasn't sure that the inhabitants couldn't handle these things themselves. As he looked out the window, he saw the looks of awe and interest the Impala was inducing, but more so the looks of contention towards the brothers. They were labeled intruders from the get-go. From the school kids walking home to the shopkeeper sweeping outside to the neighbor shooting the breeze, all met the Impala with a look of confusion or instant animosity. A few birds were flipped by the most upstanding Southie citizens. Sam slinked down into his seat and kept his eyes forward. Sure, the Winchester brothers were tough. One look at them by any stranger could tell you that. But these people looked like they had mettle and vigor built into their beings. As if it had been passed down by countless generations. Centuries of tough. They blew the Winchesters out of the water.

"Hey, Sam, guess what?" Dean asked, a joke playing clearly on his mouth.

"Yeah, Dean?" Have your jollies, Dean, whatever makes you happy.

"I'm about to pahk the cah. Right? Get it?"

"I get that your Boston accent sucks, dude." Dean's right brow cocked like a well-oiled machine.

"Whatever, Sammy, just get your shit and get out." They were parked in front of a run-down tenement.

"What, no motel?" Sam was secretly celebrating the avoidance of smashed beer bottles and bed bugs from the previous inhabitants.

"Yeah, Bobby got his cousin to lend us the apartment while he's out of the country. Hunting some Scottish Wendigoes." Sam grimaced, remembering the last Wendigo hunt he'd gone on. A broken arm and thirty stitches later, and they never even caught the elusive "sonofabitch" as Bobby had exclaimed multiple times that night under the influence of several beers. As Sam made his way to their apartment--it felt strange just saying the word-- on the 14th floor (of course no hunter would have anything to with a floor below number 13), Dean paid off the chubby landlord to make sure they always had a parking space in the back. Despite the Impala's trick trunk, Sam's older brother was a little paranoid about the trove of unauthorized weaponry being discovered by some law enforcement officials. He was way more paranoid about someone taking off with his baby.

"Well, what do you think, Sammy?"

"It's…pretty nice, to be honest." Although Sam wasn't willing to bet his rock-bottom standards were that of a normal person, it wasn't a motel room, and the furniture was still intact, and there were two beds, thank God.

"Alright, kid. Get to work on researching that Far Dorocha, Dark Man, horseshit, and I'll get to work on my beauty sleep," Dean said, plopping down on the bed closest to the door, just as he always had and always would. Sam stared for a moment, caught in an unexpected rush of sentimentality, wondering how long his life would be like this, thinking that deep down he would miss it greatly if decided to go off and become "Joe College." Dean's cocked eyebrow at his hesitance broke him from the reverie.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm going, jerk."

"Good work, bitch."

A/N: Okay, so this is my first fic. Hopefully Dean and Sam are in character, cause I sure did my best. On the location: I neither live in Southie nor have I been, although I do have cousins up there. (They only come down here when they visit rather than the other way around.) So hopefully I have not offended anyone from this area of Boston who're super loyal to realism or whatever. But, yeah, review, any constructive criticism is welcome. All errors are my fault, unfortunately. Oh, and the title is from a poem by Phyllis McGinley. I thought it was perfect for my story...it'll probably make more sense later.


	2. In which we meet Tommy

I do not nor shall I ever own Supernatural. All of that belongs to Kripke, etc. However, when I give the word, we _will_ kidnap Jensen and Jared, powerless against this massive fandom. Totally kidding. I'm not super into felonies.

"Tommy Lynch! Wake up and get over here!" The man called to the boy who was currently lost in his own thoughts as the rest of the eighth grade gym class at St. Clare's school assembled. The gym teacher with his garish red socks and orange shorts shook his head at the Lynch boy's frequent removals from the rest of the world. They had become more pronounced lately, but no one blamed the kid, especially with what was going on with his family. It was a screwy situation. But the Lynches were much too proud to accept charity. He quickly dismissed the sad thoughts from his mind and blew the whistle once more. He was getting too friggin involved in his students' lives.

"Hey, Tommy, you okay?" Joe Burns looked over concernedly at his friend as they walked out of gym class.

"Huh? Oh, yeah, I'm fine. Here, pass the ball." Joe threw him the basketball and he jogged over to put it on the rack with the rest of the sports equipment. He was feeling off today, more so than usual, although he wouldn't admit it to anyone. Was it just him or was the gymnasium freezing for the scalding June weather? He shook the ominous feeling off and ran back toward his friend. Tommy suddenly stopped mid-jog when he caught sight of something he would never be able to get out of his mind. A transparent figure cloaked in a wispy pall of darkness sat before Joe Burns on a white horse with black eyes that burned into the Tommy's heart. Everything seemed to stop as the horse set its gaze on Joe and barreled toward him. Tommy was frozen in his spot, powerless to prevent the inevitable. The Dark Man and his horse ran themselves through the boy and Joe felt fire burn through him. By the time he landed on the cold, hard cement, the apparition was gone and his red-socked gym teacher was rushing towards Joe, shouting nonsense. Tommy looked on, knowing that he was the only one who had seen the Dark Man. Even Joe was senseless to what had happened to him.

Sam Winchester felt lost. Dean had dropped him off on a street full of iron-jawed neighbors and taciturn shopkeepers. His brother was interviewing the family of the deceased, posing as a private detective (Detective Jones, like Indiana, get it, Sam? Sam had just raised his eyebrows in reply.). Sam, on the other hand, had had a camera thrust into his hands, supposedly posing as a high school journalist. He'd had to avoid saying much because he clearly didn't possess the dulcet tones of the Southie accent, so he wasn't exactly getting satisfactory results. There had been a murder/suicide which the Winchesters believed was a result of the presence of this so-called Dark Man. Legend had it that once his white horse locked eyes on you, you were powerless to do anything against the Dark Man's will, which usually involved some sort of age-old vengeance plot. Police had found Daniel Healy, a diner owner and father of four, dead in a warehouse with a .45 in his mouth, bought that morning. Clearly it wasn't premeditated. About fifty feet away from him lay crime boss Morey McCarthy. So maybe Daniel hadn't paid his dues and got fed up with the debt hanging over his head. No. No one messes with Morey McCarthy, Sam had gathered that much from the Southie citizens. Every member of that family would have a bounty laying on their heads now. Sam could see from down the street the overabundance of police cars standing guard outside the Healy household. They'd need all the protection they could get, and Sam felt immense sympathy for them. The Winchesters were possibly the only ones who knew that Daniel Healy was technically innocent. But name-clearing wasn't a big thing with hunters because there wasn't enough evidence. So all Sam could give them was his sympathy. Their job was to prevent this from happening again.

Sam sat down on the sidewalk, utterly baffled as to his next move. He had tried to talk to almost everyone on the street, although he had veered clear of Healy's Diner. He'd probably get beat up with the answers he was trying to get out of the people. The Healys' neighbors were unwavering in their loyalty, although they all had the same air of shock that came with the knowledge of an upstanding citizen suddenly turning cold blooded murderer. He'd been told to fuck off more times that day than he had ever heard in his collective life. He tossed the cheap Polaroid to the ground in indifference. Fuck.

Suddenly, the EVP monitor hidden in the depths of his pocket went off in a frenzy of beeps and high pitched frequencies. He pulled the contraption out discreetly and turned around slowly, trying to detect the direction it was coming from. His heart was racing at the ray of hope in their case. As he pointed it toward the crowd of schoolkids racing out of St. Clare's, he was even more lost than before, but he jogged towards them and joined the throng, a giant amid the uniformed munchkins. He switched monitor to silent to detract any more attention from himself and set his eyes on a towheaded, short kid, pale as death, talking to the black-haired boy next to him, a shower of freckles sprinkled across the bridge of his nose. He had significantly more vitality in comparison to the blonde next to him. Sam knew he had found the next victim, he thought with a sinking heart. A kid.

As Sam edged toward them, he had to strain his ears against the high pitched tumult of the elementary school kids; the two objects of his attention were talking in hushed tones, and the black-haired kid was glancing around nervously.

"…So you didn't see anything, nothing at all? A flash of white or something?"

"Tommy, I swear to God, if you make me answer one more question, I'm gonna puke all over your shoes. I didn't see anything. I was looking at you the whole time. Jesus, what are you trying to get me to admit to? D'ya think I saw a fuckin ghost?"

"No…listen, Joe, I saw something weird, okay? It was like this black guy—"

"Oh, wow, a black guy. Don't see that every day," Joe replied sarcastically.

"No, okay, just let me finish. He was riding this—" Suddenly, a shorter, almost mini-version of Tommy ran up to the two kids.

"Heard you fainted," the boy smirked.

"Fuck off, Jack," Tommy replied.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. So, what happened, Joe, did you look at Tommy's face too close or something?" Tommy reached back towards Jack to give him a sharp rap on the head.

"When we get home, you little jerk…" The younger boy's face suddenly turned to slight apprehension and he dashed off ahead. Tommy sighed.

"Kid's gonna get himself killed with that mouth. So, did you feel any different after you saw me, ya know, stop running? Did you feel cold or anything?"

"I felt sick, Tommy, cause I'm sick. I gotta go," he shook his head with irritation. "See ya, later, Lynch. Try and get that head checked out someday." Tommy narrowed his eyebrows and shoved his hands in his pockets. Sam saw his chance, although he didn't think this Tommy kid was going to exactly welcome him with a warm greeting. Sam quickened his pace on par with the boy's. He contemplated how to start the conversation, but if he didn't say anything now, he'd miss his only chance.

"Hey, kid, what, uh, what happened to your friend over there?" Tommy raised an eyebrow in complete disbelief at the bold stranger.

"Fuck off."

"Hey, sorry, man. I didn't mean to, you know, intrude. I just overheard what you saw and I think I can help you out." The kid's posture stiffened. What did this lanky kid mean? he thought with apprehension. He looked back at the teen's unassuming countenance and decided he didn't have anything to lose.

"You're not from around here, are you?" Sam chuckled.

"What was your first clue?" It was Tommy's turned to laugh.

"Buddy, it's not hard," he replied in his strong Boston accent.

"Right. Yeah, me and my brother are in town for a couple of weeks. I'm not too used to the area. The name's Sam."

"Tommy Lynch. So you're hanging out with grade schoolers," Tommy grinned. "I'm going into high school next year, ya know, though. I could show ya around. There's not much to see. Where're you staying?"

"An apartment on Collins Street." Tommy raised his eyebrows.

"Nice," he laughed.

"What?" Sam asked in a mockingly defensive tone.

"Weird area, ya know. If you haven't gotten beat up yet, you will. You're an outsider, buddy. Not good to be in Southie."

"Thanks for the tip, kid, but I kinda figured that out from the looks people were giving us when we got here."

"Hey, listen, I gotta go home. My dad gets pissed when I'm late. But I can come over tomorrow and give you a little Southie tour. If ya want, I mean."  
"Really? Thanks. Are you sure, though?"

"Yeah, it's no problem. 'Sides, it looks like Joe isn't gonna be too happy to hang out for the next couple of days," he chuckled.

"Number 21 on the 14th floor if you just want to come up."

"Yeah. Yeah, I'll do that," Tommy began to walk off but hesitated. "Hey Sam? That thing you heard me talking about before? Can you really help me or were you just fuckin with me?" Sam gave him a small, sad smile.

"No, man. No fucking around. I'm gonna help you out." Tommy took a deep breath and for a moment his eyes looked haunted.

"Thanks."


	3. In which secrets are exposed

I do not nor shall I ever own Supernatural. All of that belongs to Kripke, etc. However, when I give the word, we _will_ kidnap Jensen and Jared, powerless against this massive fandom. Totally kidding. I'm not super into felonies.

WOW. Okay, I'm doing two updates in one day because I have finals all this week. So, as per usual, read and review. Thanks to all who have been reading!! It's really exciting to see those numbers grow, but reviews are also greatly welcome, except no flames please  Heere you go:

Sam creaked open the apartment door after once again readjusting the number 21 which seemed to swing of its hinges every time he touched the doorknob. He saw his brothers still in his classy detective attire, his most recent _Busty Babes_ issue tossed aside, and leaning imposingly on the windowsill.

"Dean?" His brother looked around and frowned. He dropped carelessly into the nearest chair.

"Well, Sammy, no luck so far. And there's a drug deal going on right outside our apartment building," he nodded toward the window. "I'm guessing your day went awesome." Dean was not pleased, but there seemed to be something more going on. There was some sort of unspoken tension in him that Sam couldn't decipher. And since when was Dean hard to decipher?

"Actually, I have a lead," Sam smiled with superiority at Dean. "But, please, go on about your day," he smirked. Dean's pride and indignity fought for eminence upon his face.

"Nothing new. The family was too absorbed in their grief to answer a few questions, and the police weren't doing anything except drinking coffee and slipping dollar bills to the kids."

"Well, Dean, I mean, you gotta understand what kind of a position you're putting them in. Give it a couple of days."

"Sammy, we don't have shitloads of time, here. I just want to finish this job and get the hell out of dodge. I'm sick of the glares I get when I step out of the apartment." He paused. "Those four kids, though," he swallowed. "I don't know what I would've done if that had been us. It could've been. I mean, we deal with so much supernatural shit, and we're still alive? It doesn't seem fair, you know, Sammy?" Sam thought back to the last few hunts they had been on. Nearly all of them had been near-death experiences. Fair? Life wasn't fair, he echoed his father with that last thought. They remained silent for a few minutes.

"…So I think I found its next target."

"Seriously, Sammy? Damn, kid. I spend a few hours at the source of the problem, and you find the solution after a couple of minutes on the street. So, who are we saving now?"

"It's a kid, Dean. A fourteen year old. I mean, I don't know how this Dark Man's picking its victims, but it's not logical. The school's on the same street as the Healys' house, though."

"So, where does he live? Last name? There's gotta be some centuries old family feud going on." Sam looked with uncertainty at his disgruntled brother.

"I haven't got anything else but the face and the first name: Joe. But, Dean…"

"You're kidding me, right, Sammy? You find out that this kid's got a _spirit_ after him, and no follow up? You know, if Dad were here…"

"Well, he's not, Dean, so shut up," Sam replied angrily. "Anyway, I'm not gonna find out anything from the kid. He didn't even see the thing. His friend did. Tommy Lynch. And I did a hell of a lot more follow-up than you think. He's coming over tomorrow to tell me about it."

"The kid's coming here? Godammit, Sammy, you can't just give people our address!" Dean was yelling now.

"Dean, what the hell? Calm down, we're not even staying here all day tomorrow. It's not like I went up to him and said 'Hey, I hunt the supernatural, and my family has run hundreds of illegal credit card scams over the past seventeen years, and—'"

"No, Sammy, but dammit, you _know_ better. _Dad _taught you better!" At that point, Sam broke and screamed back at his brother.

"Dad's not here! I don't give a fuck what he taught me! I'm not stupid and I acted on good instinct! So stop flipping out!"

"You don't care what he taught you, huh?" Dean spoke with a level voice now, although Sam could sense the bubbling anger beneath his words. "Do you not give a fuck about this family, either? Huh, Sammy?" All of a sudden, Dean pulled out a wad of papers from under the magazine on his bed. Sam's college applications. Oh, shit. He'd never meant for Dean to find out this way.

"Dean…" he tried to placate him with a softer tone. "Dean, I'm sorry, okay? I never meant for you to find out like this. I just…" Dean was looking at him like a pleading child. No matter what tough façade his brother wore, his loved his family fiercely, and to find out that his baby brother was leaving him was the more painful than anything. Worse than the few times in the hospital he'd watched Sam lying still and pale, as if death had already taken him after a dangerous hunt. Worse because Sam was leaving him voluntarily. He felt the tears burning in his eyes, but he refused to let them fall.

"Sammy, I'm sorry. Just…just please don't leave us," he beseeched in a low voice.

"I…I haven't even sent them in yet. I was just…" Dean could hear the similar plea in his brother's voice. _Please let me go. _Dean sighed.

"Listen, Sammy. It hurts, okay? It hurts to say this, but if this is what's gonna make you happy, finally happy, then I'm gonna let you go. But," he smiled through his distress, "when you make it into some genius-ass school and become "Joe College", don't _leave_ us, okay?" And Sam understood what he meant by leaving. Don't abandon them. Don't forget them. Don't act like you're dead to the Winchester name, Dean was trying to say.

"Come here, kid," Dean nodded his head to the side and opened his arms. Sam moved forward, and Dean stepped toward his brother to hug him. He pulled back at the last second and swatted him on the head with the heavy stack of applications. Sam shook his head and smiled. Same old Dean, no matter how pissed he got. He rubbed the back of his head. There was something else…

"Don't worry, kid. _You're_ gonna be the one to tell Dad," Dean said from the other room, and Sam could almost hear his ironic smirk in the reassurance. His brother knew him all too well.

"Tommy Lynch!" Tommy's mother was screaming from the kitchen. Her son was nearly 20 minutes late when she heard him slink upstairs.

"Here, Ma!" she heard him yell back, avoiding the face-to-face confrontation that would come at dinner. Tommy ran up and threw his backpack into the bedroom his shared with his twelve year old brother, Jack. He walked across the hall and cracked the door ajar an inch. Molly was awake and grinning from ear to ear when she caught a glimpse of Tommy's face. He smiled back and walked in, kneeling by the side of the frilly pink bed. Her smile nearly took up the entirety of her small face. She looked sicker today, he thought. Her pale blonde hair nearly shone out in contrast with her paper white skin. She was so _small_, he thought. Smaller than a seven year old should be. Happy, he thought. She wants happy, he reminded himself and pulled out the reason for his 20 minute absence.

"Ma's really mad, Tommy," she giggled. It was all a joke to her when either he or Jack got into trouble. Tommy had a good chance on betting that she had never been scolded by their parents. But how could they? Any harsh word against her would be met by the most heart-wrenching pair of eyes he'd ever seen. Any harsh word against her could be their last words to her. At least, that's how it seemed lately.

"Yeah, well, I think I can handle her, Moll-Doll," he smiled. _It's not her I should be scared of, though_, he thought. Her tiny lips pouted in curiosity, spotting the object behind her brother's back.

"Hey, what's…" She reached toward him and he pulled it away with a playful smirk.

"Ah, ah, ah. Magic words," he demanded.

"Please and thank you," she laughed and reached again.

"I'm sorry, what?" He put his hand up to his ear in mock confusion. "I don't think I heard you quite right?"

"Ohhh," she said in her small, high-pitched voice. She opened her mouth to speak but instead giggled herself into incoherence. Then she whispered, trying to control her laughter, "Higgledy-piggledy and Robert Plant." And the giggles started all over again. Tommy smiled. His heart seemed to grow every time he saw her laugh. He really had no idea why that name made her laugh so much, but one day he'd brought in some Led Zeppelin music for her. And she'd been hooked on Robert Plant ever since.

"Thank ya, ma'am." He handed over the small doll to her. It was just a Barbie, but gifts were few and far between for the Lynches. The money was totally drained by the medical expenses. Molly didn't know that, though, and none of them would tell her. She thought everyone lived like they did. Granted, she'd barely made it out of her bedroom lately. He watched her tiny fingers comb through the fake blond hair.

"She looks like you, Moll."

"No, she doesn't," she frowned. "I don't have these." Her hands moved toward the plastic breasts of Malibu Barbie, and Tommy smirked, blushing. "And her skin is dark." Her face furrowed even more at the tan complexion of the doll, and Tommy's grin went away. He swallowed.

"Well, you're prettier than her, anyway," he said dismissively and tried to change the subject. "Ya know, Molly, I saw a ghost today." He saw her eyes pop open to the size of golfballs.

"No way, Jose."

"Hey, the name's Tommy," he remonstrated with a smile and proceeded to paint a very different picture of his supernatural encounter this morning. He was haunted by the image in his mind, but he couldn't tell his baby sister that. So he changed the Dark Man to the Pink Princess. Hey, he wanted her to have a positive view of the afterlife. In the middle of his story, he noticed the seven year old drifting off. She had even taken to prying her eyelids open with her forefinger and thumb. He gently moved the Barbie to her bedside table.

"Go to sleep, Moll-Doll. I'll tell you the rest tomorrow." With a soft kiss on the forehead, he left the sleeping angel amid her pink heaven. But that night he would have nightmares of blackness and isolation, the sole witness to the Dark Man's terror.

"Alright, Tommy, where were you today? You said you'd be home." His mother stood before him, nothing but commanding despite her stout stature.

"Calm down, Ma. I, uh, got a little gift for Molly. That's all, I swear," he assured, his tone rising in his defense.

"Sure. What'd you get her, some candy?"

"No, it was a Barbie doll." Mrs. Lynch paused on her way back to the stove.

"I'm sorry, I must have heard that wrong. Because last time I checked we couldn't afford Barbie dolls or dolls of any kind. And neither could our fourteen year old son. 'Fess up, Tommy, where'd you get the money?"

"It doesn't matter, Ma. I got the money, okay? And Molly's happy, so that's all that matters, right?" She looked askance at him.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, Tommy, if you keep doing this, you are gonna end up in jail."

"Ma, what are you implying? Can't you just trust me? I'm not robbing banks, Ma. I'm being a Good Samaritan, okay? Just think of it that way," he replied, taking one step backward. "It's not like that sleazy Thompson needs the extra money," he muttered, not able to escape his mother's Alsatian ears. She stepped forward and slapped him, an angry red mark left across his face. She held his chin in place.

"Thomas Michael Lynch," she said with quiet fury. "If you steal anything, be it a penny or a hundred thousand dollars, ever again, you are out of this house and working on your own time. You got it?" He nodded miserably. "Good." Her tone was decidedly softer now. "Now come help me with dinner." Tommy felt subdued and his voice showed it.

"Did you go see the Healys today?" he asked timidly. His mother's face turned downward.

"Yes," she nodded sadly. "Sarah's devastated. I didn't stay for very long; the police were getting everyone in and out like a well-oiled machine. Then some private detective showed up, and I didn't hear what he said to her, but Sarah just flipped. She is a strong woman when she needs to be. Needless to say, he got out of there real quick. Some people just don't get it, huh, Tommy?" she smiled down at her son.

"Yeah, what a bastard." He paused. "Ma?"

"Yes, honey?"

"Are you gonna tell Dad?"

"About what, Tommy?"

"Ya know, Molly's doll."

"No, dear," she said. "You are."

A/N: I apologize for anything out of character you might see, especially in the whole Sam & Dean interaction in this chapter. I'm a bit unsure about it. Maybe a bit too much melodrama, but hey. Thanks for reading!


	4. In which Tommy is Dean

I do not nor shall I ever own Supernatural. All of that belongs to Kripke, etc. However, when I give the word, we _will_ kidnap Jensen and Jared, powerless against this massive fandom. Totally kidding. I'm not super into felonies.

P.S. Huge apologies for the long wait!

Sam looked over at the boy next to him. They were sitting on the step of a vacant building, previously a barber shop as it advertised on the red and white door. Tommy's skin was shades whiter and stuck out more distinctly against his jet black hair. He had just finished telling Sam the details of what happened that day in the gym, and he looked shaken. Sam ran the fine points through his mind; his brain was running a marathon, it seemed. The fact that Tommy had been the only one to see the Dark Man made him wonder. There had been no reports of previous sight of the Dark Man by the object of puppetry, Daniel Healy, nor by Morey McCarthy. But the absent witnesses were dead men, and dead men tell no tales, or so his father liked to tell him when he did something particularly reckless on a hunt.

"Is there…," Tommy cleared his throat and began more confidently, "Is there something wrong with me, Sam?" But despite any bravado the boy tried to inject into his tone, nothing could overshadow the pure vulnerability that showed through his words. Sam looked with concern at Tommy, seeing his own insecurities reflected back at him in the boy's dark eyes. His nightmares that seemed to not be his own, his mother's death. He knew they were linked somehow, his worries not assuaged by Dean's denial. He couldn't give this boy the truth he had been searching within himself.

"There's nothing wrong with you, Tommy. Don't worry about anything," he said bleakly, turning away from the pleading face. Tommy scoffed, cynical beyond his fourteen years. As Sam looked back at the black-haired boy, he couldn't help but notice the purple bruise that had developed beneath Tommy's eye. He'd been too absorbed in his hunting duties to see it before, but now it stood out as stark as a Dean's Impala in a school parking lot full of minivans.

"Like I could…" Tommy began in his cynical tone, the rose-colored glasses clearly removed as early as Sam and Dean's childhood had ended.

"What's that on your face, Tommy?" Sam asked innocently. Tommy's Irish skin betrayed him in this instance. He turned bright red at Sam's discovery and tried to cover up his embarrassment with indifference.

"It's nothing, calm down, Mom," he scoffed, trying to make light of the situation. He paused in realization that Sam was buying none of it. "I stole something. And my dad found out, okay?" Sam's eyebrows narrowed with unease at leaving the situation as it was. He was no stranger to corporal punishment, but that was for more grave offenses. Like letting your older brother get shot on a hunt.

"Listen, Sam, don't make a big deal out of this, okay? It's better than what he's usually like lately. My baby sister's real sick, right? The doctors have no idea what the fuck it is, and neither do we, but she's dying. And she's seven." His voice broke momentarily before pulling himself together. Suck it up, Lynch, he chided himself. "She got worse this past month, and Dad hasn't been taking it too well. When she got like this last time, they told us to take her home. To say goodbye." Tommy paused again; it was clear he was having a hard time talking about his sister. "Dad just removed himself, ya know? He drinks just as much as any father with a lot on his shoulders, but he just stopped doing everything. It wasn't until she got a little better that he talked about anything but work. Believe me, getting angry, getting drunk. I'd rather have that than an absentee father."

"Yeah," Sam swallowed, thinking of how his father had reacted to his mother's death. How would he react if Dean or Sam were dying?

"What does your dad do?" Tommy asked, not able to fully appreciate the can of worms he had just opened with his question. Sam nearly laughed at him, but instead he shook his head.

"That's a long story, kid."

"I've got time." Suddenly, Sam felt all of his reservations about his family's secret fall away. The kid was already involved, wasn't he?

Tommy seemed to take it all in stride. Besides his cursory, 'Are you fuckin' with me, Sam?', after what he had seen, the kid had no choice but to believe him. By the time they arrived back at the apartment, Tommy was already working out the logistics of their lives.

"So, this credit card thing…" Tommy was interrupted by the entrance of Dean. The boy almost shrank at the appearance of Sam's older brother. Despite his cocky, affable nature, Sam knew what Dean looked like to outsiders, and he was no teddy bear. Immediately after, Tommy's protective reserves kicked in and he put up a tough, uncaring façade that could've rivaled Dean's, if not for the boy's significant lacking in the size department.

"Tommy Lynch?" Dean looked questioningly at Sam. His brother nodded in reply. Tommy jerked his head in greeting.

"You gonna hunt the sonofabitch that went all 'Invasion of the Bodysnatchers' on my friend?" Sam was in shock at Tommy. He knew the boy was similar to his older brother, but this comment made him think Tommy had channeled the essence of Dean Winchester and spat it back at him. Meanwhile, Dean's face paled at the use of the word 'hunt.'

"Sam…you have to be kidding me. You told the kid?!"

"Dean, he's not gonna tell anyone, okay? We can trust him," Sam stared his brother down, trying to communicate to him. _And you can trust me_, he pleaded mentally. For a second, he thought he had actually communicated telepathically with his brother because the 21-year-old relented. He wouldn't have been surprised, what with the freaky nightmares and such. Sam could see it in Dean's face. He stopped trying to channel John Winchester in their father's absence and became himself again. However paranoid Dean Winchester was, there was no way in hell he was going to rival the Winchester patriarch.

"Sit down, kid. We have some talking to do," Dean's tone sounded begrudging, yet softer. Tommy stared at him.

"Hell, no." He leaned against the wall, his hands shoved out of sight into his jeans pockets in true Dean Winchester fashion. Dean looked shocked at Tommy's nerve in the presence of a guy who had a lot more size and seven years on the kid. It was something exactly like he would've done at Tommy's age. Hell, it was something he did now. He looked at the boy's hostility with a glint of admiration. He was beginning to understand why Sammy had taken such a liking to the kid.

As Tommy was leaving the Winchesters' apartment, his mind reeled with all the information he had tried to process with ease. He staggered in the dank hallway in light of his fears come true. Now his friend was possessed? Mr. Healy? Victims were taken at random too much; he wondered whether there was a point to the Winchesters' crusade. They had assured him that there were hundreds others working toward the same cause. Maybe even thousands, they said with little hope. But there were millions working against them. And they had to be stopped, Dean had told him with a determination that pierced him. They told him everything. Their mother, their discoveries, their determinate seclusion from the rest of the world. Now he wondered whether asking Sam what his father did for a living was the right thing to trade for a slice of innocence, although Tommy thought that his innocence had been lost years ago.

He felt the cold summer air hit his face as he walked down Collins Street. He also felt a body ram into him, leaving the cold air hovering above him while he lay on the pavement.

"Tommy?" His brother looked down upon him, his usually curious expression replaced with a frantic fear that Tommy could taste in the heaving pants Jack bestowed from above. "We gotta go, we gotta…" His eyes were wide open and he looked ready to fall over. Tommy picked himself up and grabbed a fistful of Jack's sweatshirt, cupping his neck with the other hand.

"Jack, you have to calm down. Just tell me what happened," he demanded. His heart was already racing with the possibilities. His ignorance was killing him more than any possible knowledge Jack was about to burden him with.

"It's Molly." And his little brother's voice broke, his chin quivering perilously as he began to move his head from Tommy's gaze. He shook his head slowly back and forth in denial of the tears that were about to fall. Tommy felt himself shake with pure terror.

"Jackie, calm down. You gotta calm down. Please…" he trailed off. His face was now streaming with tears as he realized the inevitable had happened. He yanked his brother into his chest, Jack leaning into his embrace.

"Tommy, we gotta go to the hospital. Ma sent me to come get you. She's not…Moll's alive, okay? Okay, Tommy?"

"What?!" He grabbed his brother's face and felt it continue to quiver. Jack wouldn't cry unless he was paid to.

"It's just…it's bad, Tommy." His restless head looked miserable as he looked anywhere but his brother's gaze. Tommy swiped his face and snapped back into determinate alarm. He took a heavy breath and put his hand on the nape of Jack's neck, leading the two desperate brothers to the rest of their broken family.

A/N: Thanks for reading! I promise the real action will begin next chapter. This was mostly set up, but also some nice family dynamics and supernatural stuff going on. Please review, I'm lovin my reviewers, so don't let me down. They are so very appreciated, I cannot even tell you!


	5. In which Tommy wants vengeance

Do I still own nothing? Hmm? Yep, pretty sure. Nothing at all, people.

The black twilight hung heavily upon the two as they made their way toward the bus stop. There was a burden upon the brothers, a grief they had carried for years, now it was coming to an end, they thought, culminating in one trip to the hospital that would wreck their lives. No one in the Lynch family could live without Molly. Not seeing her bright smile, hearing the trickle of her laugh, it was enough to make Tommy want to disappear into oblivion. To forget. To sleep without dreaming. Jack clung to his arm; despite his emulation of Tommy's tough bravado, he was still a little boy clutching his only lifeline, and the tears were beginning to fall. Tommy didn't know, couldn't understand what they had found in their baby sister's room. He hadn't seen like Jack had. A pale ghost smeared with scarlet blood. It stained her yellow hair and her pink nightgown. Jack's heart was sinking and he was taking his brother down with him. They sat at the bus stop, and Tommy realized how inane, how trivial life was when death was waiting at your door. He looked at his shoes: stupid high tops he had spent months saving up for. What a waste when he could have been making Molly laugh.

The ride to the hospital was a blur. The brothers were gripping each other so tightly that the fingernail imprints would still be visible the next morning. Tommy knew people were staring, and for some reason he felt angry and extremely protective of the breaking boy next to him. He placed Jack next to the window and sat down, daring any one of the other passengers to look at his brother so he could lash out. He didn't ask Jack to tell him. He didn't want to hurt the boy any more. He didn't want to know. It was probably more of the latter, he thought, that made him in so much awe of the Winchesters. To carry someone else's pain, to dream about them, then to walk away onto the next horror like determined soldiers. It was astonishing how quickly one can walk in and out of the lives of people.

They reached the parking lot and ran, nearly knocking over the person exiting the hospital doors.

"Joe?" Tommy whispered, and the blond boy turned his head around and fixed his eyes on the brothers. A gaze with only malicious intent, his eyes looked as though they were doused in black ink to Tommy, and he staggered backward. A rage burned through him at the thought of a demon being his sister's bedside companion and he lunged forward at the creature that was no longer his best friend but rather something that had to be eradicated. In retrospect, he would realize what lay at the core of every hunter's heart was rage. Rage at the fact that the supernatural can walk among us, carry our loved ones away under our watch. Vengeance, sometimes, was necessary, even to an obsession.

"Tommy? Tommy! Stop, cool it, what's—"

"Joe Burns!" he gasped. "Right there, with the eyes! Don't you…don't you see him too, Jack?" That same sinking feeling he'd had in the gym told him that he was going insane.

"Tommy, stop foolin' around! We gotta go see Molly." Jack paused and flung his hand on his mollified older brother's shoulder. "What's wrong with you?" Tommy thought he had been struck dumb by the black gaze until he responded shakily:

"Nn…Nothing."

"You're fuckin' crazy, you know that?" Jack attempted a moment of lightheartedness, but Tommy plowed ahead, not wanting to hear that all too real truth.

"Jack?" His little brother had paused outside Molly's hospital room, looking in terror back at the tear-streaked face of their mother and the blank expression of their father that beckoned the two inside.

"I, I'm gonna stay here. I…I don't wanna go in unless she's awake." Tommy felt his insides being attacked by sadness for the eyes that were pleading up at him. Tommy merely nodded and marched in. The things he would remember most were the machines keeping his sister alive. It was hard to tell where the wires ended and his sister began. She was still as death, so he rushed cautiously to caress her hand, seeking a modicum of warmth, a flush of life. He knew his parents were in the room with him, but somehow everything around him disappeared when he looked at the small, white face. He could hear them grieving, but it didn't register in his mind. He remembered striding out of the room; it was killing him to leave or stay with the girl either way. He remembered finding Jack pounding on one of the vending machines, complaining that it wouldn't give him any change. He remembered crying. Jack wouldn't remember, refused to remember that small detail. He remembered crying for a long time with his brother in his arms and thinking that they weren't men, they were boys. Thinking that they didn't deserve this and neither did the princess in the room down the hall. Knowing that Jack and Tommy would never be her knights in shining armor because they simply couldn't kill the dragon living inside of her. He remembered a lot from that night, but the thing most burned in his memory, something he would still be able to hear in a city rush hour or a crowd of a hundred thousand. He distinctly heard the wail of a woman who had suffered unimaginable pain. It came at him from all sides, as if he was experiencing it in all senses, in each of his shaking limbs. It was the cry of death.

The next morning, Molly was awake and her blue eyes savored her alertness and seemed to swallow whole all those unsuspecting saps that dared look once at her. Hours later, no matter how weak she was physically, her mind began to grow restless.

"Tell me the rest of the story, Tommy," she begged him.

"What story would that be, miss?"

"The ghost story," she said, her weariness unintentionally showing through. His mother shot a warning glance at him; her vigilance had been restored with Molly's regained consciousness.

"Don't worry, Ma, it's a good story. Extra scary," he winked at the little girl. She smiled.

"He's lying, Mommy. It's about a princess."

"I'm watching you, smart aleck," Mrs. Lynch warned.

"Yeah, yeah," he smirked. Things seemed to be going back to normal, outwardly, at least, despite the undercurrent of fear that rolled through their minds. His mother left for the cafeteria, leaving only Tommy and Molly in the room.

"Well, when I first saw the princess, she asked me for help. Not all princesses have it easy, ya know. The pink was almost blinding me, though, and I had to ask her to repeat the question. Me being blind and all." Molly responded with a laugh.

"Settle down, kiddo. I'm not that funny. You gotta rest, ya know, Moll. Anyway, since I was such an attractive St. Clare's attendee, she was naturally drawn to my presence. That's probably why she appeared to me in the first place, ya know. She asked me if I could save her from her big bad meanie father. He was the king, see. And he was going to lock her up with a great big dragon because she didn't want to grow up and become queen. She was almost eighteen, and you know, in the supernatural world, the monarchy is very strict. She wouldn't be able to play dress up or run around with her friends anymore. It was forbidden." He paused for a moment, checking Molly to make sure he wasn't wearing her out.

"Well? Did you help her, Tommy? What happened next?" she asked impatiently at his hesitance.

"I told her I was sorry but my family needed me. Once you go to their world, you can never come back, ya know. They can come here, but if you were to visit there, you'd be gone forever. I said my baby sister has too much fun with me, she simply couldn't survive without my radiant presence," he grinned. "She wasn't happy with me, to say the least. But I had a dream about her last night. She saved herself. She fought the dragon all by herself and made up with her father. And everything was okay." He frowned, trying to keep the growing lump in his throat from making itself known. "You're a lot like her, Moll-doll. Ya know?" He swallowed. "You could be a lot like her." He saw his baby sister falling asleep. "You could save yourself, right?" And he heard his voice broke and stood up to pace the room. His father was standing in the doorway, an amused and yet simultaneously despairing look on his face.

"How much did you hear?" he asked.

"You know I can't pass up a good story, Tom."

"You know, I…I didn't mean anything by that. With the princess' father and stuff," he blushed. His father scrubbed his face with one hand. His black hair stood out at all ends; his disheveled appearance exposed the man's vulnerability.

"I'm sorry for what I've been like lately. Sometimes…," he stopped and scanned his eyes across the room. "I don't want this to be the only life for her. I wish I could provide…_something_ better for my children, but no matter how hard I try," he gestured his arm at the white hospital room, as if it would serve the purpose of unspoken words. Tommy felt he was being unfairly thrust into this adult club of his father's. He knew everything he was saying. Just didn't want to hear it.

"It's fine, Dad," he interrupted, sounding harsher than he meant to. "I…I have to go somewhere. Get out of here," he muttered more quietly under his breath. He had been feeling like a caged animal since he had heard the mournful cry the night before. He was beginning to piece things together.

One bus trip later, Tommy checked his house to make sure he was the only one home and ventured up into he and Jack's bedroom. Under piles of clothes and sports equipment lay a metal box. He plucked the key from under his mattress and unlocked the box, revealing the shiny, cold blackness of the .38 inside. He had bought it off a high schooler notorious for illegal trades, after Jack had been beat up by a couple of local kids. He needed to protect his family once again, he thought, slipping the weapon in the waistband of his boxers. As he swept his shirt over the conspicuous shape, he made his way to the phone and pulled out the dirty piece of paper that held the only piece of information he wanted now.

"Hello?"

"Sam? It's Tommy. Tommy Lynch."

"Tommy? Hey, is everything okay? What do you need, kid?"

"Revenge." Tommy had replied to Dean, who sat there utterly baffled by the boy's chilling tone after he had hung up the phone. There was a question in his voice, a lost, scared tone that Dean couldn't miss. But he'd be damned if he had heard a more determined voice than that of his own father.

A/N: Sorry if it was all a bit confusing. The reason for Tommy's extremity will for sure be explained in my next installment. Until then, thanks for reading & please review!


	6. In which the truth is unraveled

As usual, I own nothing! Huge apologies for the gigantor delay between chapters. Reviews would be motivators and much appreciated!! I got pretty lazy, and the story should be ending pretty soon, so here you go:

"_Hello?"_

_"Sam? It's Tommy. Tommy Lynch."_

_"Tommy? Hey, is everything okay? What do you need, kid?" _

_"Revenge. _I have some information. Just make sure the door's open." Dean could sense the nervousness in the boy's tone. He'd been keeping vigil over his brother as he slept. For some reason the nightmares Sammy had been struggling to keep at bay had come back with a vengeance with their trip into Boston. He heard a muffled moaning coming from the figure in front of him, and his head whipped around in alarm. He reached over and shook the teen's shoulder gently.

"Sam? Sammy?" A groan was his only reply as he watched his brother begin to toss and turn underneath the covers.

"Wake up, Sammy. It's just a dream. Sam!" A minute later, his brother's eyes snapped at attention, as if he were alerted by one of their father's early morning wake up calls. The expression soon turned to fear as he caught sight of his brother standing over him. His head dropped heavily into his hands as he attempted to slow his breathing.

"You got somethin' to tell me, Sammy?" Dean demanded. Sam smiled weakly, his face still covered by his hands, as he saw through Dean's heavily masked concern. He tried to ignore his worry with jokes and an always casual tone, but Sam knew differently. He extracted his head from his hands with a groan and stared blankly at the wall in front of him, trying to understand the bad movie inside his head.

"I had a dream. About Tommy. I think he's in big trouble, Dean." Dean was shocked at the revelation. Usually, Sam just brushed off his concern about the nightmares, neglecting to expose the innermost details of his REM cycle. Why did Sam know his dreams had significance, he asked himself. Was there really something wrong with the kid, as a gangly and vulnerable fourteen year old Sammy had once confessed to him after a long night of fragmented terrors?

"Hey, kid, it's okay. Tommy just called. He's coming over here now. Sounded scared as hell. What exactly happened in that dream of yours, Sammy?"

"He's coming over?" Sam asked, brushing off Dean's question. "What time is it?" 

"About 8:00 in the morning, kiddo. You overslept," he smiled. "I know how much you like to get up and do that extra summer geek work. Too bad when you could be waking up to a Miss Pamela Anderson and those—"

"Dean, I'm not a stupid fifteen year old anymore. I know you didn't sleep with Pam Anderson, dude."

"Oh, cause that was so long ago," Dean smirked. "That chick in Jacksonville looked pretty damn similar, though." He shook his head, as if in awe of his own raw sex appeal. Sam rolled his eyes and swung his feet over the side of his bed. The world tilted as he stood, and he felt an arm propping his body upright.

"Sammy, slow down, bud."

"What the…" Sam shoved his hands back under his eyelids in an attempt to erase the black spots. A frantic rapping on the door interrupted his groggy musings. Dean leapt to answer it when the door swung wildly and a frenzied Tommy entered. Sam looked fearful, while Dean's shoulder straightened with apprehension.

"It's my sister…and Joe…at the hospital…I…no one else could see him," he paused for breath. "Why can't anyone…his eyes…" Tommy alternated between confusion and pure fear in his words, and Dean took a tentative step toward the unstable boy. He was beginning to feel very alone at being the only sound person in the room.

"Hey, Tom, why don't you sit down for a minute, then you can explain everything to us, okay?" He began to guide the shaking boy to his bed, but felt a tug on his hand as Tommy pulled away.

"Don't touch me!" he exclaimed. He looked at Dean with accusing eyes briefly before walking himself to collapse on the bed. Dean noted his wild eyes, searching for an exit like a caged animal. The kid was gonna go into shock if he didn't get some rest and peace of mind. He inwardly scoffed. _Peace of mind. _He didn't think he knew a single person who had truly experienced the phrase.

"Tommy, what is it?" Sam had recovered and his eyes were owlishly staring at the boy in curiosity and anxiety.

"Didn't I just tell you?!" Tommy responded, harried by his pervading anxiety. Eventually they got Tommy to spill his story out to them after much prodding and Dean's "threat" that if he didn't calm down soon enough, they were going to settle the matter outside and abandon the verbal tactic. He left out the part about the woman's cry at the hospital, though. He already knew it was a banshee, he wasn't stupid. And he knew it meant his sister was going to die.

"Okay, Tommy," Dean said. "We think your friend—"

"He's not my friend," Tommy muttered petulantly.

"Right, well, that kid Joey is being forced by this spirit to do it bidding. We think your sister is the target, but I want to remember that we could be wrong. Is there anything linking your families? Any shared relatives or histories with members of the Burns' family?" Tommy looked taken aback that Dean had asked the question.

"Well, yeah," he explained. "We're like fourth cousins or something. But I don't know how that would—"

"Who told you that you're related to Joey?"

"My grandpa. And you can't interrogate him, 'cause he's dead. Or would you guys just have a séance instead or something?" he replied sarcastically. Dean and Sam looked for him to continue. Tommy sighed.

"Our grandfathers hated each other. Joey's died when we were pretty young, so I never saw the whole thing in action, but my dad says when the two met in a room, everyone could feel hatred bouncing off the walls. Anyway, when my grandpa told me this, we were at Joey's grandfather's wake, only Grandpa wasn't allowed near the body because everyone was suspicious he might slip something in the casket. Have you ever been to an Irish wake?" Tommy asked. Dean and Sam glanced at each other and shook their heads, no, unable to remember their mother's own funeral rites.

"Well, an Irish wake is basically a party where everyone gets drunk and tells stupid stories about the dead person that no one really wanted the dead person's kids to know about. So, when my grandpa told me the story of him and Joseph Burns, I kind of disregarded him, because he was the drunk to end all drunks. When he and his cousin Joe were seventeen, they came over to America. They left their family, belongings, everything, and they knew they'd never see any of them again. As soon as they stepped off the boat, they met this blonde woman. The most beautiful woman in the world. She was probably pretty ugly by today's standards, though. They both fell in love with her, and instantly hated each other because of their rivalry. I don't really remember much of it. All these old guys kept interrupting. All I know is that it ended up that the blonde woman killed herself and the two men swore vengeance on each other," he furrowed his brows. "You know, I hadn't thought of it for years."

"Do you think your sister looks a little bit like this woman?"

"I know so. He had a picture. This is crazy, why is Joey after Molly? Wouldn't it make sense that this spirit dude go after me?"

"He might be after you both, but right now—"

"Does the St. Mary shrine at Our Lady of the Sacred Heart mean anything to you?" Sam interrupted. Tommy was again surprised by the question. Then his brows lifted in realization.

"That's where Joey goes to think."

"We have to get there by midnight or one of you dies."


End file.
